


Reprieve

by LookingForDroids



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/F, Negotiated Fantasy, PWP, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-19 13:10:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22645426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LookingForDroids/pseuds/LookingForDroids
Summary: Sometimes the Seer’s gift is also the Seer’s burden. Kanaya gives Rose a chance to unwind.
Relationships: Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Reprieve

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Porn Battle Amnesty anon meme, which can be found here:
> 
> https://pb-anon.dreamwidth.org/1146.html#comments

Rose has never quite decided whether the Game’s tendency to blind its seers strikes her more as cruel or perversely merciful. Terezi traded delineation for color, and Sollux earned the gift of silence, but she ascended with her eyes intact and her mind full of light. She has no plans to willingly surrender either, but all the same, there is something tiring about too much sight. To cede it for a time, and close her eyes to nothing instead of dreams… it isn’t merely temptation. She needs the dark, sometimes, the way her wife needs blood.

Both needs, of course, can be accommodated easily enough, and so here she is, playing the frail Victorian innocent, and there are things she knows by sense, not sight: that there are satin sheets beneath her, a window open to the night, cold air and the scent of winter encroaching. She has been waiting, half-asleep and drifting out of time, roused occasionally by the memory of Kanaya kneeling before her, wrapping a length of soft Alternian fabric twice around her eyes. It had been afternoon then, the sunlight through the open window falling warm upon her face. She had felt ridiculous in a lacy gown, sheer enough to approach transparency. Some scenarios demanded fog and moonlight, and perhaps a gothic graveyard, before they could stand a chance at verisimilitude.

 _What then?_ Kanaya had asked, pulling the blindfold snug enough that no light could slip through. _After the maiden wakes?”_

Knowledge is less easily put aside than sight, and Rose knows she would have been blushing as she spoke. Kanaya is frank about many things, but hunger is a more intimate need than most.

 _You should surprise me,_ she had said. _I should wait, not knowing, until I feel your presence in a gust of cold air. You have read novels like that, I’m sure._

Her own adolescent interests had been more obscure, but she knows, when she hears the floor creak beneath light footsteps, to stir, rising as if from a dream. She knows to let her half-buttoned nightgown slip down her shoulder, to twist and bare her neck as she falls back languid against the pillows. 

The mattress dents. There is a weight poised above her, and a pause like the moment before lightning strikes or a timeline diverges, but the world is obscured by soft cloth tied tight. All she can be certain of is Kanaya’s breath on her skin, and then Kanaya’s mouth, cool on the span between collarbone and breast. There is a universe where she will rise to take Rose’s throat between her teeth, and one where she will descend to take Rose’s nipple in her mouth, sucking through the nightgown or tearing it aside. One will hurt and the other will not, but beyond that, it doesn’t matter which she inhabits, because these choices are small ones and they’ve left doom behind them. 

No choices, her mind insists, are small, but she feels the faintest scrape of fangs across her skin, and her breath escapes her. Then the weight is gone, and her skin prickles with the chill of night and sudden absence.

 _Surprise me,_ she thinks, memory or plea, and breaths in sharply as Kanaya’s mouth just brushes her shoulder and withdraws. She is kneeling, Rose thinks, beside the bed, and more than that is impossible to say. She is elegant, no doubt, and unperturbed, though perhaps the hunger in her is visible as she presses her lips by turns to the crook of Rose’s elbow, the inside of her wrist. She does not bite, though once she nicks Rose’s palm with a claw and licks the blood that runs down her fingers in a cooling trail. Her tongue is precise and thorough, eager enough to leave Rose aching and all too quickly gone.

Kanaya is hungry, then, but Kanaya is patient. Her claws play over Rose’s skin in unpredictable patterns until she makes her way low enough to take the hem of Rose’s nightgown in two hands and lift it over her hips. She is bare beneath, and with careful hands, Kanaya parts her legs and touches the inside of her thigh, where the skin is sensitive and slick with arousal. Her thumb is a steady pressure, so close to where Rose wants her, and Rose does not make a sound. She does not clench her fists in soft sheets or tilt her hips up and rut against nothing. She waits until the mattress sinks again as Kanaya takes her place there, shivering pleasantly as the weighty textured fabric of what is surely a splendid gown settles over her lower legs. She’s expecting it, but still she startles when Kanaya lowers her head to kiss the spot where her fingers had lingered, and again when her fangs pierce deep. It is not the sort of thing that Kanaya will admit come the morrow, but the sound she makes is undignified as Rose curls one hand around the back of her head, grips her sleek hair and holds her there to drink her fill. 

With her other hand, she reaches down, spreading her legs a little wider as she presses two fingers against her clit and arches up. She feels a shock of heat, a tremor in her legs, and allows herself a small gasp before Kanaya grasps her wrist and pulls her inexorably away.

“Not yet, my love,” she says, her breath ghosting over Rose’s thigh. “In time, I will have all of you, but you do not get to choose when, and you do not get to know.”

With that, she pins Rose’s hand to the bed and bows her head again, intent now on her appetite, but Rose can be patient too. There is time. She can trust in that. There is time and space, light and void, roads of probability still uncharted. She closes her eyes beneath the blindfold, presses her face into the pillow, and gives herself over to the sweetness of uncertainty.


End file.
